


by tomorrow this will be yesterday

by limned



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Caretaking, Established Relationship, F/M, Medical, Post-Battle of New York (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 21:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10705014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limned/pseuds/limned
Summary: The damn S.H.I.E.L.D. medics are way too good at dealing with her and Clint now.





	by tomorrow this will be yesterday

Things don’t start to calm down until hours later. With the helicarrier too damaged to make port in the city until the next day, Stark Tower is interim base. Ground perimeter security is such a tense combination of NYPD, National Guard, S.H.I.E.L.D. and Stark’s private guards that Natasha is fairly sure there will be at least one actual fistfight over jurisdiction before dawn.

She helps Rogers cope with the mayor and the police commissioner, then Governor Cuomo on teleconference for a whole new level of official freakout. It’s not fun but she knows it’s miles better than what Fury and Hill are fielding, the president and SecDef and an incredibly pissed-off World Council, and it’s also a significant improvement over an alien flying jetski ride while taking fire from multiple directions, so she isn’t going to complain.

Her luck finally runs out when the governor’s call ends and Maillet is standing behind her. “Agent Romanoff,” he says, and looks calmly back at her when she tries to stare him down.

“Fine,” she grumbles, eventually.

“Sixth floor. They have a clinic. Where’s Barton?”

“Fine, yeah, I’ll bring him,” Natasha says, irritated, because all the damn S.H.I.E.L.D. medics are way too good at dealing with her and Clint now. She thinks they get together off-duty and share manipulation strategies, probably with situational flowcharts about how to use them against each other.

Because he’s not an idiot, Maillet doesn’t look smug or smile at her as he leaves. Rogers watches with raised eyebrows and mutters, “I don’t know who that man was, but I respect him,” and Natasha aims a deadly glance that makes him turn hastily back to the displays and call Fury for another report.

.

She can hear Clint being sullen at Alvarez through the curtain. Of course she can, because the medics put them in adjacent cubicles on purpose.

Maillet handles her exam with his usual efficiency and lack of small talk. There isn’t too much to handle; she’s still trying to process how she could do everything she’s just done without taking more damage. Or without being dead. He runs through the concussion protocol, cleans the gash on her hairline and a handful of other open cuts she doesn’t remember getting, and does a thorough check for cracked ribs or anything else the adrenaline might have cloaked. The swelling in her right knee doesn’t prompt the MRI recommendation that would’ve happened before the medics understood her healing factors, thank god. Instead he does a simple stabilization wrap while she grudgingly holds an icepack to her lip.

Natasha owes Maillet a drink or three after this, when she stops being so annoyed. The timing of his questions is clearly deliberate and lets her monitor Clint’s exam through the curtain.

He hasn’t been moving right since shortly after the battle so she isn’t surprised when he eventually admits to slamming through a window and landing on his quiver. She can hear the occasional pained exhale as Alvarez works on him.

It’s equally unsurprising when he tries to refuse the muscle relaxants.

“No problem,” Alvarez says, just enough cheerful sarcasm without being patronizing. “Don’t take them. You’ll have spasms in about three hours and Romanoff can haul your ass back down here. Or take them and you can walk down tomorrow morning for another massage. Your choice, man.”

The silence goes on long enough that Natasha pulls the icepack away from her mouth and calls over loudly, “He’ll take them.”

Maillet is securing the clips on her knee wrap and she catches the corner of his mouth twitching the slightest bit, but he doesn’t look up at her.

.

Natasha half-expects another fight about him wanting to stay on guard where they have Loki in one of Stark’s lab cages. It was hard enough to get him to the medics in the first place, even though Thor and eighteen S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and Banner dozing in the corner were obviously more than adequate security.

He doesn’t, though. Maillet and Alvarez have already disappeared and he just rubs a hand over his face, looks at her and says, “I think I’m done. We got quarters?”

He’s moving a lot more stiffly as they leave the clinic for the elevators. Natasha stays close at his shoulder in case he needs her for a crutch and thinks about his metabolism and the time lag for the muscle relaxants, calculates that it’ll probably be another thirty-five minutes before they kick in. She doesn’t want to do any additional calculations about how long since he’s had real sleep and how hard it might be for him to get any tonight, so she stays away from that.

He leans against the back wall of the elevator and she’s turning for the panel when he says quietly, “Natasha,” and tugs her away by her belt.

Clint is drawn and exhausted and in pain and she just wants to get him somewhere to lie down, but there’s a tight fearful knot still parked somewhere above her stomach so she eases her arms carefully around his shoulders and lets him pull her close, one of his hands coming up to thread into her hair, his mouth pressing soft against her temple, and she takes a deep shaking breath and closes her eyes.

In a minute Natasha is going to pull away and press the floor button and find out where they’re sleeping tonight. The elevator won’t stay here forever, someone else is going to need it. In a minute she’s going to let go of him and move on to the next thing.


End file.
